


A name is more than letters

by Bigredtbc



Series: Six-Nine-Two [1]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Beginnings, Gen, Young Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 07:45:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8241740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bigredtbc/pseuds/Bigredtbc
Summary: They met on the road, but Barney gives him something precious.





	

Summer was in full swing, the sun unrelentingly hot. Even with the heat, he kept the hooded jacket on, pulled over his head, obscuring him from sight. His feet were silent on the pavement as he ran, not fast enough to draw too much attention to himself but fast enough to outpace the store clerk who’d ran after him. The front of his hoodie bulged with the boxes and bags he had grabbed from the shelves. He wasn't sure what most of them were but they all proclaimed to be some form of food stuff.  
Slipping down an alleyway, a quick flick of his eyes confirmed no cameras and no one to see. He sped up, arms pumping as he gained momentum, barrelling towards the eight foot wall blocking the ally. Judging the distance, he leapt up, feet landing on the top of the wall, knees balanced. He didn't wobble, he never wobbled. Fleet footed, he padded along the slim wall, as silent and as agile as a cat. Sure hands gripped the drain pipe and he scaled it, hand over hand, quick and quiet. He wasn't that far now, the looping run had taken him a fair distance from the small store he’d been chased away from. It didn't matter anyway, his friend said they were close now, as close as the next town. In a few days they could be safer. 

Barney was still where he had left him, the older male taking down their shelter and packing it carefully into their backpacks. The teen looked up when he scuffed his feet purposefully against the dry grass.

“Your back.” Barney’s lips stretched in a smile as he carefully rolled the tarp. “Did you get anything?” His voice was hopeful.

He could hear the teens stomach growling and he nodded, unzipping the hoodie enough to begin unloading his haul. Dropping to one knee he gently placed each bag and box onto the dry grass, looking over the colourful pictures and words on them all. Barney’s eyes widened in awe, his grin growing as he dropped down. 

“Sweet! I'm starving.” Barney grabbed a pink bag and ripped into it, pulling out a handful of something not quite brown and smelling vaguely meaty. 

Released of his burden, he carefully sat down, tentatively reaching for a similar bag that proclaimed themselves to be ‘Real roast beef flavoured’. He ignored Barney watching him as he carefully opened the bag, looking at the mound of strange irregular slivers of something not quite brown coloured. They smelled salty with a heavy layer of chemicals and a slightly meaty smell. He brought one to his lips, taking a tentative taste, feeling his eyes widen. The taste exploded on his tongue, salty, slightly peppery and very meaty. He couldn't help the soft noise of appreciation, it was like nothing he had ever tasted before and so much better than even the food in the commissary. 

“Never had chips before?” Barney asked, a strange tone to his voice. 

Carefully, he shook his head, slowly nibbling another chip. He liked them very much. Licking the taste from his finger tips, he peered back at Barney. Barney ducked his head after a moment, stuffing another handful of chips into his mouth. 

“So…” Barney drawled out, mid western accent twanging. “You gonna tell me your name?” He lifted his head a little.  
He blinked, tilting his head to the side as he mulled that over. Truthfully, he didn't have a name. He had a number. Nibbling another chip, he weighed the pros and cons of the truth.

“I don't have one.” He admitted, Barney's eyes went wide.

“You don't have a name?” He asked slowly, puzzled. 

“No.” He agreed. Barney's face shifted through a series of expressions.

“Your going to need a name.” Barney frowned at him, setting his bag of chips aside. He tilted his head, blinking at Barney.

“How do I get a name?” He asked earnestly. Perhaps he could go and get one, maybe there was a place where names were assigned, like when weapons were assigned from the armoury.

“Your parents give you one.” Barney stated softly, looking at the dry grass covered earth. 

“Oh. I don't have any.” 

“Mine died too.” Barney nodded. He felt his brow furrow in a frown.

“I never had any.” He amended.

“Someone’s gotta’ have called you something.” Barney frowned deeper He tilted his head. 

“Six-nine-two.” He admitted, if anything Barney seemed more confused.

“Maybe that's your birthday or something. June ’92. You look older than that.” Barney mused, still puzzled. “Still, a numbers not really a name.” He popped another chip into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “How about…” Barney trailed off, unsure of something. “Is there a name you like?” He asked after a moment.

He lifted his shoulders, he didn't really have an opinion, names weren't something they had been taught about. His number had been what identified him so a name hadn't been needed but apparently that wasn't done out here. 

“How about Clint. He's this really tough guy in old films from the ‘70’s or something.” Barney's lips twitched. He shrugged his shoulders, he really had no opinion. Barney rolled his eyes. “Well it's better than a birthday.” He added. 

“Ok.” He agreed.

“Cool.” Barney beamed happily at him, smiling a large happy grin. “Clint.” He nodded. 

“Clint.” He repeated, Barney's smile seemed to grow impossibly wider as he nodded along. Clint smiled back. 

They finished the chips off rather quickly, gathering their belongings and heading for the train tracks. It was only a few miles up the tracks to the next town. Barney still wasn't any better at keeping pace, as slow as he had been the last week and a half of travelling together, but he trailed after Clint and Clint tried to keep time by taking both their rucksacks. Even with two overflowing rucksacks on his back, it was still an easy walk with a relatively light load. He'd had to carry much more at a faster pace before. 

Clint. He mulled that over in his head as he walked, eyes sharp and constantly roving, looking for signs of pursuit or danger. His name was Clint, Barney had given him a name. His lips and tongue formed the name. He liked the way the ‘T’ stopped, almost sharp at the end. Clint. Clint. Clint. It was a name he hadn't heard before. Clint. Clint. Clint. It rolled back and forth in his head. A smile twitched at his lips, lifting the corners just a little. His name was Clint. Something almost warm and light unfurled in his chest. It felt like when he'd looked at pretty things from the high place. Happiness. 

He couldn't help the bounce in his step for the last mile and a half, it was inefficient, costing more energy for no gain but he didn't care. His name was Clint and if he wanted to bounce as he walked he could, he could bounce as long as he wanted because he wasn't THERE anymore. He was out here and he had a name and that name was Clint. His lips curved with a bigger smile. 

 

Barney was making pained noises by the time they finally made it, complaining quietly about his feet. Clint didn't say anything. This was outside, this wasn't an exorcize, they didn't have to watch out for hidden enemies. He kept his eyes on the strange sight before him.  
Trailers and tents ringed what looked like a overly colourful command post, which logically it couldn't be. A command post wouldn't be so obvious, not even as a trap. People milled about in clothing that was just as bright and colourful, some wore out fits that were shiny, some wore clothing that was ill fitting. It was mostly older people but a few younger ones and children moved about, all of them different shapes, heights and race. Even from here he could detect at least three different languages being spoken.

“Just let me do the talking.” Barney warned as they slowly approached the perimeter.

Clint nodded, acquiescing to Barney, it made sense, there was so much he didn't know, so much that confused him. Barney had made a comment or two about him being retarded, muttering under his breath when Clint asked for clarification on something Barney took for granted. Apparently things worked differently out here, Barney didn't even have rudimentary survival skills but he understood the strange culture references Clint hadn't yet been taught. Things like MTV hadn't been a priority. So while Barney had handled things like social interactions, Clint had taken care of keeping them alive and off the grid, listening diligently when Barney explained something that seemed to be common knowledge to the people out here.  
He hung back a few paces, letting Barney take point and covering the rear, keeping his eyes open for threats, trying to ignore the tightening in his gut. It almost felt like stepping into enemy territory and Clint wished he had an assault rifle in his hands.  
They drifted closer towards the main tent, a Big Top, Barney explained quietly as they passed by the first few trailers. Clint just nodded as his eyes tracked everything. His hands clenched tighter on the straps over his shoulders, hating the feeling curling in his belly. They were out of place here, Barney's eyes were wide and awed as he looked around, too much in awe of everything as they walked. Unlike Clint he didn't have the skill to look without appearing to be looking.  
They made it to the Big Top without being challenged, but their luck only went so far. Someone shouted and Clint tensed, ready to act as a portly man turned away from the woman he was talking to and immediately began heading towards them. 

“There's no show tonight, go home!” The man ordered.

Barney puffed up his chest, squared his shoulders and lifted his chin defiantly, it made Clint’s insides squirm, fearing swift repercussion. 

“We don't want to see the show. We want to join it!” Barney stated bravely. 

It was a front, even under the smell of sweat and grime Clint could smell the nervousness beginning to seep from Barney's pores. The man faltered a step, shaking his head, a look of not quite annoyance on his face.

“Look kid, running away to join the circus might sound like a great idea, but it's not, this is a hard life. Go home before your parents have the cops after you.” He ordered, coming to stand before Barney.

“Dad shot mum, then himself.” Barney stated flatly, lifting his chin a fraction more, “Me and my brother Clint ran away from the group home…they won't miss us.” Barney scuffed his foot off the floor, looking down a moment before looking back up, looking sad. “They want to split us up, I'm all he's got.” Barney looked back at Clint. 

Clint shifted on the balls of his feet looking at Barney, unsure what the older boy wanted, whatever it was he wanted, it seemed he got it. The mans face twitched, a micro-expression but an expression none the less. Clint stepped closer to Barney, shoulders hunching up by his ears as he looked to the man.

“Everyone works around here.” The man challenged, eyes flicking between the two of them.

“Yes sir.” It came out of his mouth before he could stop it and Clint flinched, he was supposed to be letting Barney handle the talking. His looked at Barney in worry. 

“We can work.” Barney hastily agreed. 

“Police come looking for you, we'll hand you over.” He warned coolly. “I'm Carson.” He added.

“I'm Barney Barton, this is my brother Clint.” Barney relaxed in relief.


End file.
